13 Then another questry-men was calld, The best that was in Rumary; Twelve of them spoke all in a breast, ‘Sir Hugh in the Grime, thou’st now guilty.’ 14 Then came down my good Lord Boles, Falling down upon his knee: ‘Five hundred pieces of gold would I give, To grant Sir Hugh in the Grime to me.’ 15 ‘Peace, peace, my good Lord Boles, And of your speeches set them by! If there be eleven Grimes all of a name, Then by my own honour they all should dye.’ 16 Then came down my good Lady Ward, Falling low upon her knee: ‘Five hundred measures of gold I’le give, To grant Sir Hugh of the Grime to me.’ 17 ‘Peace, peace, my good Lady Ward, None of your proffers shall him buy! For if there be twelve Grimes all of a name, By my own honour they all should dye.’ 18 Sir Hugh, of the Grime’s condemnd to dye, And of his friends he had no lack; Fourteen foot he leapt in his ward, His hands bound fast upon his back. 19 Then he lookt over his left shoulder, To see whom he could see or spy; Then was he aware of his father dear, Came tearing his hair most pittifully. 20 ‘Peace, peace, my father dear, And of your speeches set them by! Though they have bereavd me of my life, They cannot bereave me of heaven so high.’ 21 He lookt over his right shoulder, To see whom he could see or spye; There was he aware of his mother dear, Came tearing her hair most pittifully. 22 ‘Pray have me remembred to Peggy, my wife; As she and I walkt over the moor, She was the cause of [the loss of] my life, And with the old bishop she plaid the whore. 23 ‘Here, Johnny Armstrong, take thou my sword, That is made of the mettle so fine, And when thou comst to the border-side, Remember the death of Sir Hugh of the Grime.’ * * * * * B Johnson’s Museum, No 303, p. 312, contributed by Burns; Cromek, Reliques of Robert Burns, 4th ed., 1817, p. 287; Cromek, Select Scottish Songs, etc., 1810, II, 151. From oral tradition in Ayrshire. 1 Our lords are to the mountains gane, A hunting o the fallow deer, And they hae gripet Hughie Graham, For stealing o the bishop’s mare. 2 And they hae tied him hand and foot, And led him up thro Stirling town; The lads and lasses met him there, Cried, Hughie Graham, thou art a loun! 3 ‘O lowse my right hand free,’ he says, ‘And put my braid sword in the same, He’s no in Stirling town this day Daur tell the tale to Hughie Graham.’ 4 Up then bespake the brave Whitefoord, As he sat by the bishop’s knee: ‘Five hundred white stots I’ll gie yon, If ye’ll let Hughie Graham gae free.’ 5 ‘O haud your tongue,’ the bishop says, ‘And wi your pleading let me be! For tho ten Grahams were in his coat, Hughie Graham this day shall die.’